


Play By The Rules

by YourSweetNepenthe



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, M/M, Riding Crops, Spanking, Sub Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourSweetNepenthe/pseuds/YourSweetNepenthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's been naughty and needs to be punished.</p>
<p>(I suck at summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play By The Rules

**Author's Note:**

> For Tracey. 
> 
> *** 
> 
> This is the first time I've written this pairing, and originally it was going to be johnlock, so please don't be too harsh. Con-crit is always welcome though :) 
> 
> Not beta'd or proof-read.
> 
> Please comment, my lovelies!

A pair of strong hands gripped Sherlock's wrists with bruising force. The urge to struggle- the deep, in-built survival instinct- was hard to control, and as his left wrist maneuvered into place at the headboard of the bed, the familiar metallic clinking of handcuffs fueled that need. 

 

"Don't move, or you'll be in big trouble," his captor murmured, securing the left cuff and shifting to do the same to the right. 

 

As the metal closed, Sherlock gave an experimental tug to test his bonds in what he hoped was a subtle way. His hope, however, was misplaced. 

 

"Stop that," the other man snapped, slapping Sherlock hard. Beneath the blindfold, Sherlock's eyelids fluttered and he bit back a moan. Calloused fingers soothed the pinkened skin of the detective's cheek. Sherlock stilled. "That's better. Are you going to be a good boy now?"

 

Sherlock fought the desire to turn towards the comforting touch. "Yes," he breathed. In an instant the soft caress was withdrawn, replaced with another stinging slap to his cheek. 

 

"Oh, Sherlock," the man said, false disappointment colouring his tone. "Lying to me already. You should know better than that. Let's try again, shall we? Are you going to be a good boy?" 

 

Sherlock took a shuddering breath. "Yes, sir."

 

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Teasing fingers trailed down Sherlock's chest to the coarse curls at his groin. "Unlike you." The predatory smile was evident in his captor's voice as he grasped Sherlock's aching erection, jacking it twice and drawing a strangled moan from the detective's throat before letting go. 

 

The change in sensation was designed to keep him on edge. The part of Sherlock's brain not focused on his arousal knew that, but knowing it didn't stop it from having the desired effect. By the time his mind had caught up, it was over and he was once again alone on his bed. 

 

He could still hear the other man's occasional footsteps from the other side of the room, and the sound of things being moved around on his desk. The anticipation of what might happen next sent a visible shudder down Sherlock's spine. 

 

The sudden, unexpected thwack of leather hitting wood made him jump, head turning towards the direction of the sound despite the blindfold impairing his vision. 

 

"We've got to change the game now, Sherlock. See, nice as the view is," a finger traced down the thick vein in Sherlock's cock to illustrate his point, “you still need punishing for your little indiscretion earlier, and it would be a shame to end my fun by damaging the goods." A thumb swept over the dam crown, prompting a bead of pre-cum to well up at the slit before rolling off the rounded head and down Sherlock's thick shaft. 

 

The other man sucked in a sharp breath at the sight before speaking again. “I'm going to uncuff you, you will lie down on your front, I will put the cuffs back on you,” the man lent in to whisper directly into Sherlock's ear, “and then I'm going to punish you for being _such_ a bad boy.” 

 

Sherlock couldn't hold back the gasp, nor stop his hips from thrusting up, desperately seeking relief, his mind listing exactly what could be in store for him. 

 

The second the locks clicked open, Sherlock rolled over, waiting to be re-chained. The man chuckled as he recuffed the detective. “Such a greedy boy, aren't you?” 

 

Sherlock shivered. “Yes, Sir.” 

 

“I should add another ten for that, but I don't think you could handle that on top of your proper punishment.” A hand stroked over the curve of Sherlock's arse. “We'll have to wait and see.” 

 

The hand withdrew again, replaced moments later with the sensation of smooth leather. It was a feeling Sherlock knew well, albeit never before in quite the same way. Another drop of pre-cum dampened the bedding at his groin as he realised what was about to happen. 

 

“Do you know what this is?” the other man asked.

 

“Yes, Sir.” And Sherlock did know. He just didn't know how the other man would have known about this particular kink of his. 

 

“And?” 

 

“It's a riding crop, sir.”

 

“Close,” the man sing-songed, “but I think you can do better than that. Try again.” 

 

Sherlock suddenly found thinking rather difficult. The folded leather strap of the crop teased between his legs and over his perineum. It took him several seconds longer than his mind usually needed to refocus and whimper out his answer. 

 

“Its _my_ riding crop, sir.” 

 

“Very good.” The crop left his sensitive skin and Sherlock had a sudden, unfamiliar pang of regret that he hadn't taken longer to find the answer. “Time for your punishment now. Are you ready?” 

 

Sherlock didn't answer, unsure of how to respond. 

 

Strong fingers tugged his hair, painfully, sharply, forcing Sherlock's head up and away from the soft pillow he had been resting on. The other man was close, pressing his body to Sherlock as he growled into the detective's ear. “That required an answer, you insolent little slut.” 

 

“I'm sorry, Sir!” Sherlock gasped. “I'm ready, I promise I'm ready.” 

 

The grip loosened, and his head fell forward, his scalp still tingling. Behind him, he could hear the man shifting around, felt the bed dip slightly under the additional weight. 

 

The first blow, despite being relatively soft, caught him unaware across his lower back and he yelped. 

 

The other man chuckled. “I thought you said you were ready. Lying to me again...” He paused. Sherlock felt the man's gaze sweep over his body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “Count them this time.” 

 

The next hit was harder, landing squarely on Sherlock's upper thighs. This time he didn't make a sound apart from a whispered “one”. 

 

Another blow made contact with Sherlock's shoulders. “Two!” His skin sang with the delicious burn. 

 

“Three!” and “Oh, fuck! Four!” landed in quick succession on his buttocks, then... nothing. 

 

As the pause dragged on, Sherlock found himself tensing up, expecting more pain. The lashes on his back, bum and thighs throbbed, and his dick throbbed in sympathy. 

 

Just as he began to think that it might be over, a firm hand slapped down on his bottom, directly over the newest red mark the crop had left. Sherlock didn't manage an answer, just and inarticulate moan as the force of the blow pushed him tighter to the bed. 

 

The tiny amount of friction was heaven to his over-sensitized cock. From its position trapped between the bed clothes and Sherlock's own body, it twitched, dampening the skin on Sherlock's belly with another spurt of moisture. His balls were already full and drawing up tight, ready to let go. 

 

And then it all happened at once. It seemed that Sir had finally lost his patience. 

 

“I” slap! “told” slap! “you” slap! “to” slap! “count!” A final vicious blow, combined with the feeling of teeth biting into his shoulder sent Sherlock over the edge. 

 

He screamed as his hips bucked, his orgasm more powerful than any he had ever experienced. 

 

*** 

 

Sherlock woke to the feel of strong fingers stroking through his hair. The first thing he noticed was that his wrists were free again. They felt stiff from their recent bindings, but nothing he couldn't deal with. 

 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Jim grinned. Sherlock blushed. He was still naked, covered in bruises and lying in a pool of his own drying cum while the world's only consulting criminal looked on. 

 

Moriarty stroked a thumb over Sherlock's cheekbone in such a gentle way it was nearly impossible to imagine the man was responsible for the red marks on Sherlock's skin. 

 

“Was it good for you, Sherlock?” he asked. “Did you enjoy our little game?” 

 

Despite his embarrassment, Sherlock grinned back a him. “Yes, Sir.” 

 


End file.
